CHAPTER THE FOURTEENTH THE COLLAPSE OF THE PENITENT Part 1 Spring had held back that year until the dawn of May, and then spring and summer came with a rush together. He hated horizons. I'll wait here. The young man's imagination suddenly pictured the man as a rock, loosed from its ancient bed, crumbling as it fell. He took a handful of the gravelly mud, with which the platform was covered, and threw the small pebbles, one by one, towards the gleam. Her mother missed writing for a week, and then she wrote in an unusual key.
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